


Tansy Pickett, Drugstore Witch.

by Spooky8pack



Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Freeform, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original work - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-06-15 19:33:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15420030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spooky8pack/pseuds/Spooky8pack
Summary: I am a drugstore witch, mixing potions in prescription bottles.Out of xanax and mandrake,vicodin and unicorn hair,asprin and a wyverns heart.





	1. Violets

**Author's Note:**

> Not a poem, a little snippet of a story that I may or may not continue.  
> Edit: I will 100% continue this I have so much idea

I am a drugstore witch, mixing potions in prescription bottles. Out of xanax and mandrake, vicodin and unicorn hair, asprin and a wyverns heart. Hair pulled back in a messy bun, with a mask on because god does marigold not smell good when pulverized. My sister is in the next room, she is my light, my life. She coughs like she’s constantly deprived of air, her hair is thin and lifeless, her eyes constantly glassed over. She spends most of her days in bed now, watching the hours whittle away like a chisel on stone. Her name is Anemone, just like the flowers I place at her bedside. Right next to empty pill bottles and IV bags.  
“Give that child a little color,” mother says.  
Color, that’s what it needs. Purple, like violets. Violet petals, crushed, thrown into the mixture. It needs more amethyst dust.  
The mixture turns a bright purple on my stove top, nearly staining the pot.  
“Huh, thought this stuff was stainless steel.” I guess magic can stain any material. I take it slowly off the burner, constantly stirring it with a spoon. Carefully, oh so carefully I transfer it to a bottle. Like the witches of old, a fancy glass bottle cork and everything. Even with the marigolds stinking up the place it smells nice, like a flower bed. Rocks and dirt, with a sweet undertone.  
Everyday, I try new healing mixtures. New herbs, new amounts, new bases. Trying to find something that will work. The doctors say, with enough time and treatments Anemone will get better. She has a plethora of drugs next to her bed, I don’t see them working.  
I turned to the old magicks three years ago, when she got so bad she could barely walk. My family hadn’t practiced magic in years, when it was outlawed my grandmother said,  
“It’s too risky to continue, traditions become outdated. This one will be left behind.”  
So the books were locked in a cellar, covered in dust, never to be touched again. Until me, Tansy Pickett. Drugstore witch.


	2. Iris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Iris Whyte. The love of my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WROTE TWO CHAPTERS IN A NIGHT BITCH GET READY FOR ONE MORE AFTER THIS  
> also i promise i won't spend too long on the romance, I just love my girls Iris and Tansy

Sometimes I sit by her bedside, read her stories, talk about work, braid her hair. She says she doesn’t like it when I spend too much time with her,   
“You’re working a full time job, Tansy. Get some rest, you can dote on me later.”   
Spending time with her is my rest. Seeing her stare at herself in the mirror, willow branches curled around her head in a crown, seeing her smile. That alone gives me enough energy for another day of work, another mixture, another doctors appointment. My favorite thing to braid into her hair is silk, something soft. Softer than hospital sheets, and needles. Elegant and refined.   
Anemone is all I have anymore, we never knew our father. Our mother died, of the same illness Anemone now suffers. We are all we have.   
Of course, there’s always Iris.   
Iris, my partner in crime, my supplier. Iris Whyte, a fellow Drugstore Witch. She is another source of energy for me, seeing her laugh, watching her dance. Every fleeting moment I see her. Even a simple stop to drop off ingredients, my heart skips a beat. Anemone may be my life, but Iris. Iris is my everything. She is benevolent and kind, almost ethereal, she seems to float on a plane that is not our own. An entire other existence, Anemone swears she saw her levitate once. Iris is more in tune with the old magicks than I could ever hope to be. Her eyes glow, her hair bounces, her steps light, and her hands soft. Oh, Iris Whyte. The love of my life.


	3. Geranium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iris has begun to spend more time around our house. Helping brew potions, coordinating Ane’s medications, washing the dishes, reading our dusty tomes I salvaged from the cellar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise yall i won't spend too long on them....it's just....IM GAY AND ROMANTIC GET OFF MY DICK   
> anyways enjoy

Iris has begun to spend more time around our house. Helping brew potions, coordinating Ane’s medications, washing the dishes, reading our dusty tomes I salvaged from the cellar.   
“I should spend more time here, you have books of magicks I would only dare dream of.”   
I barely hear what she says, she’s sitting in the window in such a way that the sunlight frames her face to make her glow.   
“Tansy, stop staring and listen!”   
Her scolding snaps me out of my trance. She goes on about the magicks she found in the tome, curses and blessings alike.   
“Life drain,” she says pointing towards a marked page. “This, it was the curse Adeen used, she used this magic to resurrect her kingdom.”   
Adeen, if I hadn’t read the same books she had read I would have scoffed at her. To the public, Adeen was little more than a failed Queen, a fable. To a witch, she was a martyr.  
“The curse is slow, taking months, up to years. It drains it’s victim. Their very soul is ripped apart, piece by piece…” Iris reads, in her lilting voice. “The life force must go somewhere, either directly into another living (or non living) being...or a vessel…”   
I could listen to her all day, even reading about death and decay and old magicks far beyond our will. No witch in this day and age has ever used a life drain curse. Iris shuts the book, staring at me with big brown eyes. And I realize, I was staring again.   
“I’m sure talk of death and decay is romantic to you, Tansy. But not now.”   
“Just shows how captivating you are.”


	4. Willow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started to tear up, dropping the half-weaved crown in my hands.  
>  When Ane brings up her own mortality, it scares me.

Flower crowns are a simple pleasure in such an advanced world. With internet, television, video games. Flower crowns take me back. Before Anemone was sick, before she was ever born. Sitting underneath the soft gaze of a willow tree and weaving her branches, the gifts she grants us to find a small amount of joy in. Ane doesn’t get outside much anymore, she isn’t able to. But oh, the precious few days she is able we make the most of it. Letting her pale skin soak up much much needed sunlight, let the wind whip her thin hair. We sit underneath a willow tree and weave her branches together with dandelions and grass.  
“Do you think I’ll ever get better, Tansy?”  
“Of course you will, why do you ask that?”  
“Because mom died, grandma died, her grandma died.”  
“You stop that talk right now, Anemone Pickett. They died because they abandoned their roots, what kept our ancestors alive long enough to bare children which grew and expanded into us today.”  
“But traditions were abandoned for a reason,”  
“Because the whole of society decided that our ancestry was ‘scary’ and ‘risky’ and ‘savage’.”  
I started to tear up, dropping the half-weaved crown in my hands. When Ane brings up her own mortality, it scares me. Makes me realize that despite three years of efforts from magic and physical she has only gotten worse. She can barely even use her legs anymore and cannot walk without a cane.  
“I’m sorry…”  
“It’s okay, Ane. I understand, you’re scared. I’m scared too. But we will find a way, okay?”  
All she did was nod solemnly.  
Many a willow branch was left discarded on the ground.


	5. Marigolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is sitting next to Anes bed, stroking her hair and I swear I can see her eyes glow.

I despise the smell of marigolds, repulsive flowers. This morning I went out to tend the gardens and see the neighbor, a woman who incites almost equal disgust in me as the flowers she plants in her front lawn. Rows and clusters of marigolds, lining the edge of her home. I see her water a particular cluster of marigolds next to her mailbox, closest to our yard. I try to avoid her, despite knowing her since my childhood her near ageless face disturbs me. She has to be in her 60’s and she looks like she’s 20. She treats Ane terribly, like a labrat for her to observe. The way she holds her wrist “for comfort” looks more akin to a doctor taking a patient's pulse. She is sitting next to Anes bed, stroking her hair and I swear I can see her eyes glow.


End file.
